Never underestimate how incredibly awkward it is to walk
alone into a room full of strangers who know each other and are all speaking a
language you do not understand.
This past week was Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, the
most important holiday on the Jewish calendar. So even though I’m in La Paz,
Bolivia, I really wanted to celebrate the holiday. The solution: Chabad. Chabad is basically a very religious Jewish organization. Here’s what I didn’t know (because, friends, for some reason only Israelis know about this little gem of a secret): There are Chabad houses all over the world, in almost every country, where people are welcome for Shabbat dinners, holidays, prayer services, and hummus. And apparently La Paz’s Chabad house is particularly nice. I had
gone there for Passover and then forgot that it existed. But I knew they must
do something for Rosh Hashana.
So on Wednesday night, after a few somewhat uncomfortable
emails to the Rabbi who does not speak very much English, I was on my way to
the Chabad house. I was pretty nervous since I was going alone and I had no
idea what to expect. I worried about what to wear, eventually settling on the
only skirt I had brought with me to Bolivia. I should have known better –
Israelis are notoriously casual and these guys are all backpacking across South
America so ripped jeans, llama sweaters and facial hair was the accepted attire
for Rosh Hashana dinner.
And now back to that uncomfortable moment where I walked
into the dining room of the Chabad house and felt like I had entered some
strange twilight zone other world in the middle of La Paz. I looked around, saw a
room full of Israelis speaking Hebrew, and I went and sat on a stack of chairs
in the corner. Because really, what the hell else was I going to do?
The tables were set beautifully. Each plate had a small
challah in the shape of a pomegranate on it. There were trays of Israeli salads
(hummus, matbucha, a variety of eggplant dishes) scattered around the table,
flowers, apples and honey. I just wanted the meal to begin so I could eat and
go home.
Slowly more people filtered into the room, and finally two
brothers who happened to have been shuffled over to the corner where I was
sitting realized I didn’t speak Hebrew and started chatting with me in English.
They were pretty cool guys. When the rest of the (religious) men returned from
the services in the other room, I followed my two new friends to the table.
They proceeded to be my translators for the remainder of the evening.
So the dinner began. The Rabbi made the blessing over the wine, then the bread, then we ate our apples and honey. I chatted with the people around
me. They brought out more and more
challah and the Israeli salad course not only lasted a very long time but was
more than enough food for the entire meal. But of course then came fish, soup,
meat, potatoes, dessert. The Rabbi came around a couple times with shots
because that’s what happens at Jewish events.
And because I seem to have a problem keeping things quiet
and normal in my life I ended up playing a game with one of the guys that
resulted in a dare in which I had to stand up, get everybody’s attention, and
wish the room a shana tova, or happy new year. After several people joined in to convince me to do
it, I kinda did, but not everybody was paying attention so I'm not sure it counted.
Basically, even though I was in a way the odd man out, the
only American in a room full of Israelis, a stranger in a place I didn't know, I felt comfortable, safe,
like I belonged at this Rosh Hashana meal in a strange house in the middle of
La Paz.
I went back the following day for lunch and second day
dinner. Both were nice but not quite as large or crazy as the first night. I
found everyone very accepting, willing to chat. And I now know where to go for
the rest of the holidays as well as any Friday night I need a warm dinner and
challah. (Apparently they also have a restaurant and their hummus is damn
good.)
So I’m glad I took that risk, that I entered that strange
room and sat in the corner for twenty minutes suffocating in the awkwardness. Because I realized something important. I realized that wherever I go I have this incredible community, a group of people with whom I share a great deal even if we come from different countries, even if we speak a different language. I realized the beauty of coming together to celebrate a holiday that has been celebrated for thousands of years. I
met a bunch of people, ate a ton of food, and had a really nice albeit
different type of holiday.
Shana tova.
